


Sins of the Father

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Strange Hearts & Wild Things [11]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Comfort and Healing, Family Feels, Family Healing, Healing, Morning After, Parents As People, The Truth Hurts, Trust Issues, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new day dawns, and the Royal Family of the Fairy Kingdom must confront what lies ahead for all of them…A follow up fanfic for the events in "Once Shattered, Twice Shy" and "To Bloom In Darkness"</p><p>Part 11 for my "Strange Hearts & Wild Things" series, and the Final Part to the Three Part Arc that began with "Once Shattered, Twice Shy". YOU WILL HAVE HAD TO HAVE READ THE TWO PREVIOUS FANFICS TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE. Just so you know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

It was a belief borne of legend and lore, furling out of fearful whispers at a Border that crawled with soft primroses and snarling vines, that Light could not pass into the realm of the Goblins. 

The Dark Forest was so titled, withered Elf crones warned and tiny Fairy children said with youthful authority, because it drank in Light ravenously, fierce and greedy as the creatures that dwelled in its serpentine roots and crawled out from its dank burrows.  Its hunger was a vast and all consuming thing - any warmth from the Sun was leeched away as soon as it hit the Border, the dark canopy of leaves separating Light and Dark so that it was perpetual, inky night in that dreaded land…

It made for a wonderful story to be told around fires, creating a delicious sense of unease that allowed one to draw closer to a sweetheart without suspicion.

It was also patently untrue.

Light in the Dark Forest was a strange and shifting thing compared to the bright and steady pour of sunlight across the Fields, but it certainly had a home there. It dappled across the floor of the Forest, played across rough bark and roots, and when night fell, the Forest was never so bright, glowing and soft with fireflies and moonlight and luminescence…

Light had always been in the Dark Forest. One simply had to take the chance to find it.

Now the soft, almost white-blue light of early hours blossomed across the horizon as slowly and surly as the opening blooms in the Fields, tender and tentative in their bravery to confront a new day. Petals were limned with the faint pink purity of sunrise, the glowing wash of gold of a stronger hour still far off. The foliage of the Forest had never looked so dark as it did then, stark and quietly rustling against the pale sky. Beneath its spreading canopy, its inhabitants were either groggily returning from a long night of prowling or just beginning to snuffle themselves awake. Star-bright luminescence faded as fungi and lichen ducked was more into safe shadows…

The dim light spilled across the Forest, both washing things to paleness and making shadows deepen, a slow and soft vanquishing of the night. But when it crept and wound as soft as vines into the chamber of the Bog King, it found itself defeated by something that refused to surrender to either soft dimness or retreating dark.

The wings of the Crown Princess to the Fairy Kingdom shimmered in the light like something alive, the texture of the tiny, fine scales silken and iridescent and glimmering, spangling the timid light into something vivid and bright and glorious, something brave and beautiful. The glow of them met the wash of light and dark and kept both at bay, refusing to tamper its dazzling color to the modesty of dawn. They had never looked so stunning…

Then again, they had never had the contrast of dark, velvety moss and pale, luminous skin, limbs sprawling across the verdant bed, to set it off so becomingly…

And even in sleep, Marianne had never felt more  _beautiful_ , more _loved_ …

She was soft and slow to wake, the heavy drape of moss and the warm weight of scaly limbs twining across her own making her feel safe and protected, cozy and enveloped…

_Safe with him, wanted and understood and trusted and **loved** , so incredibly loved…_

She didn’t  _want_  to open her eyes, didn’t  _want_  to see the faint stain of dawn, pale and pink and unstoppable across the sky. She squeezed them shut tight, the smooth line of her brow furrowing. She was being silly, and she knew it – sunrise was a natural thing, a wonderful thing, and she didn’t  _want_  to begrudge it, but…oh, she just wanted to stay wrapped up in darkness and warmth and Bog for as long as possible.

As soon as she opened her eyes, she knew what that meant… It meant she would have to leave the comforting security of shadows, the warmth of moss, leave  _him_ …

It meant she would have to go back to being a responsible Heir to the Throne and the daughter of one incredibly frustrating but undoubtedly worried King…

It meant waking up completely and getting out of bed, cool air winding across skin that was warm and sore and still gloriously grimy and damp from moss and sweat and sex…

At that last thought, Marianne smiled, a tender triumph to the slow curve of her lips, her brow smoothing. A wicked rapture sparkled in her hidden hazel depths that would have put her wings to shame.

**_They had done it._ **

_They finally, **finally**  had_…been intimate? Made love? Mated? Screwed each other’s respective brains out?

Her smile blossomed further, and she bit down on the mad desire to giggle, wriggling a bit into the moss. Whatever colloquialism she used,  _they had done it!_

A soft little huff of laughter and delight escaped from her, and Bog a groan, the sound thick from sleep and ragged with use. Unsurprising, considering the sheer  _noise_  she had coaxed from him last night.

Marianne bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at him, his long body curving around hers, and was torn between languidly drinking him in and the concern that she would disturb him from some much needed slumber…

The King of the Dark Forest gave another grumble, before moving suddenly, a claw stretching out. Marianne had a brief moment of déjà vu as he tugged her close to him, pushing his face into the crook of her neck, nuzzling his face into the smooth slope before inhaling deeply. He let out a gusty exhale of contentment, and Marianne squirmed at the tickle of his breath against her flesh. Bog remained blissfully unaware and merely nestled up close to her, his scales prickling against her back as one long and scaly leg hooked over her thigh in a sleepy claim.

Marianne bit her lip again, the need to laugh much fiercer, and struggled between that and the potent reminder that she was very,  _very_ entwined with him and very,  _very_ naked. The moss was spongy and comfortingly cool as it pressed against her side, and her wings had never been able to prevent the soft scratch of his scales and prickles on her, a fact that had never really distressed Marianne. She stretched slightly, her spine arching away from him just a touch, and she purred at the tense and release of well-used muscles.  _God_ , she was sore as hell, but  _oh_ , it felt  _wonderful_. And the brush of his scales,  _god,_  did he feel  _good_  on her…

_Felt even better **in**  you, didn’t he?_

Marianne’s cheeks pinked a bit at the thought, which for some reason or other sounded like an extremely saucy version of Dawn, but her smile only grew wider. Bog made another noise, a shuddery growl of an exhale, and shifted in a way that signaled that he was just coming out of whatever dream he was having. For one girlish, smitten moment, she hoped it was of her.

_Oh my god, you’re in love, not freaking Dusted._

With that comforting snap of dryness–  _love was one thing, dreamily mooning was too similar to Roland_  - Marianne rolled over to face Bog straight on, a difficult task considering how his arms looped around her so. His leg stayed firmly across hers, only sliding a bit to her hip. Wriggling in his embrace to get comfortable, her wings rustling free out from underneath her, Marianne looked up into his face at the precise moment he was starting to truly wake up.

Slits of bright blue squinted sleepily into the dim light of the room, apparently still too much to handle. Then they fell on Marianne and immediately opened to gaze upon her in all her messy splendor, and a certain unfathomable glint came into their blue depths.

Marianne resisted the urge to self-consciously brush away some of the wild thicket that was her hair, all riled and mussed up by sex, and instead merely laid her head against a mossy pillow, large eyes meeting his, staring. It wasn’t a challenge, but simple assessment, one that every warrior did - taking the situation, seeing what dangers were posed. And in this sweetly strange and weirdly wonderful state, caught between night and day, Marianne was sure there were a million of them, each more wonderful and thrilling than the last…

The blaze of lust and need and taking of last night had been indescribably glorious, the afterglow sweet and heady. And now here was the fabled morning after, soft and strange and tender, the world outside only just waking up. For everyone else, it was a new day…

For them, it might as well have been a new world.

Bog’s eyes traced over the soft slopes and hills her body made under the moss, then returned to hers, and Marianne had a strange, absurd moment of relief that she was somewhat decent. It passed as soon as she saw the incredible softness to his gaze, a pained and sweet disbelief that had her breath catching. He gently reached out a claw, his talons hovering over the curve of her cheek and the tangled softness of her hair, hesitating.

Marianne, feeling any unease after last night was a needless thing, cupped his hand with her own and brought it to her cheek. She leaned into his palm, guiding it to stroke up and down the line of her jaw, her eyes closing as she luxuriated in the feel of it, of  _him._

Bog gave a low noise at that, rather like a purr, and Marianne opened her eyes to look at him once more. “Hey…” she said softly.

His eyes grew even more tender, a seemingly impossible thing. “Hey…” he returned, his voice a low, soft rumble, and Marianne felt a deep and intense thrill go through her, her happiness so great it was almost painful, almost scary.  _I love him so much_.

She moved closer, and Bog readily helped, grasping her waist and pulling her to him so that she was almost across his chest. Awake or asleep, the need to feel each other would not be denied…

Marianne drank him in, and Bog’s eyes were growing heavy as he looked at her, the sight of her soothing him so.  _I do that to him._  Her heart gave a sweetly pained little twist in her chest, and she couldn’t keep it in.  

“I love you.” It was soft and sincere, and Marianne ducked her head, laying her head across his chest. The ridges and edges of his scales pressed into her cheek, and she breathed him in, mossy and wild like the nighttime wind,  _moonlight dappling gray-brown armor as he tucked that flower behind her hair…_

Bog pressed her close, and his voice reverberated through her, a warm and deep and tender rumble beneath her cheek.  _“Ah love ye too…”_

Marianne breathed out slow and shuddery, her eyes prickling as she closed them, overwhelmed by the onslaught of her emotions.  _I love you._ Now that it had been said, she had a feeling that either of them would ever get sick of saying it…

She chanced a look up at him, and felt her heart clench all over again at the sheer  _love_  in his eyes, the blue soft and tender. Without thinking, she moved to him, and he moved to her, and their kiss was languid and warm and wonderful, a gentle exploration of that which was both familiar and unknown. When it ended, Marianne sighed, soft and happy, and laid her head back upon his chest.  

Bog stroked her, the soft roughness of his palm dragging in a warm, wonderful line from the top of her head to the arch and dip of her spine, the tips of his claws sending shivery little tingles through her nerves as they barely skimmed her skin. She sighed, heartfelt and deep, and Bog shifted once more before speaking.

“How…” he cleared his throat and continued on, soft and still so unsure, “…How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Bog snorted, and Marianne had to grin. “In the best way possible. God, I  _ache._  I mean, I thought sparring was intense, but  _this_  –“

_The burn of him on her, **in**  her, both of them moving together –_

“Aye…” Bog murmured, and he sounded so ridiculously  _pleased_  that it was Marianne’s turn to snort. Bog gave a squeeze to her hip for that, and Marianne met such playfulness with her own, batting at his hand. She got a pinch for that one, which she rewarded with a tug at his ear. They easily fell into gentle, teasing tussling, and though Marianne’s face ached from her grin, Bog’s expression was such a beautiful mix of sleepy and sweet and wicked that she could only smile harder. God, but did a night of passionate, mind-meltingly amazing love making do absolute  _wonders_  for his early morning mood…

Marianne gave a flirtatious nip at his hand as he caught her wrist, and Bog went in for another kiss. Marianne dodged it but hooked a leg over his hip lest he get the idea she wasn’t into this. She was rewarded with a twist of unexpected tenderness that lanced through her with an intensity that made her give a sharp wince of pain, inhaling fast and quick through her teeth.

Bog immediately stopped and sat up, his eyes going grim with concern. “What is it-?”

“’S fine,” Marianne said, waving him off. “Just…bit tender. Guess that was kinda ambitious of me…”

“Attempting to best me?” Bog queried, the slyness of his words at odds with how he tenderly and carefully passed his hands over her waist, spanning its slimness.  

“I  _know_  I can best you, dork,” Marianne shot back, but let him cradle her to him. His eyes hadn’t lost that worried look, and she snuggled closer. “Seriously, Bog, I’m okay.” And truly, it wasn’t  _that_  bad. Even with the slight remaining discomfort, her body was ridiculously loose and relaxed, positively melting with warmth and sweet soreness. To prove her point, she sat up a bit and stretched, still clutching the moss to her front with one hand, and let out a low purr at the tensing and pull of her muscles and tendons.

Sighing at the sweet release, she brushed a hand over her hair, fluffing it even more before collapsing into his embrace and snuggling deep into the crook of his arm. Bog, in turn, decided that her hair wasn’t nearly enough of a mess and burrowed his face in it, inhaling her scent as one of his feet curled around her ankle.

Marianne stroked soft fingers up and down the long line of his chest and torso, pulling a soft, throaty hum from him. She smiled softly before speaking. “So…I have a question. One that’s…well, one that’s kind of…awkward and intimate, but…”

Bog merely moved onto nuzzling her ear, his lips brushing the slope of it. “Aye, alrigh’…”

 _Okay._  Marianne breathed in, commanding her nerves. “It’s just…before, with our…whenever we got…y’know,  _intense_ , you’ve never…” She flushed and glanced down at him before shrugging a shoulder. “Y’know?”

Bog flushed, but otherwise didn’t freak out as he gave a slight nod.

Feeling a bit more emboldened by that, Marianne bravely continued on. “And, I guess I was just wondering…why not? I mean, it’s fine and all, but – were you  _into_ them, or -?”

“I was!” Bog said, sitting up in his haste to assure her. “I am!”

Marianne cocked a brow at him. “Then…how…?”

Bog flushed even darker, and he scratched a claw at the back of his neck. “Erm…will power? I suppose?”

Marianne gazed at him with wide eyes.  _“…Will power?”_

Bog flinched a bit but nonetheless preserved. “Uh…yes? I – I just didn’t…I didn’t want to…to frighten you or – or make you feel –“

Marianne tugged at his chin so she could kiss him properly, sweet and slow and full of soft heat. She gently pulled back to bump her nose with his. “You’re sweet,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to his cheek before moving back to his mouth and continuing on, her words slightly muffled. “Though you’re an idiot for thinking you could ever frighten me. Also, your control is freaking  _incredible_ , your majesty.”

Bog gave a huff that sounded like an even mix of vexed and pleased and only served to make her nuzzle him even more, lipping at his ear. Bog responded in turn, holding her close so that he could make his way down her neck, mouthing the slender line of it, fangs and lips a glorious contrast. He breathed out in a warm gust, which caressed the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts. The skin there immediately pebbled and Marianne felt her body was in need of firm talking to.  _Yes, I **know** , I know it’s Bog and it feels wonderful, but its too soon, we’re still  **really**  sore from last night -_

But Bog, always so oblivious to just what he could do to her, merely stroked one set of fingers through her hair while the other curved along the slope of her side. Marianne moved into the caress, sighing softly as her eyes wandered over the room, taking it in the soft early light.

The chambers were, for the most part, the same as always, the wicks in the amber-paned lanterns long since guttered out. It was the bed that had borne the brunt of their passion – the blankets were utterly shredded, scraggily pieces of moss and clumps of dirt everywhere on the floor. The moss that served as a mattress was torn up as well, claw marks raking down deep in great grooves to the wooden base, and Marianne counted at least seven more grooves at the head of the bed.

Looking at the, she idly wondered how many he had left on her – it didn’t  _feel_  like a lot. She glanced down at herself to see if there were any obvious ones, and suddenly noticed how her skin was glowing in the light, still pale but obviously getting stronger. Dawn was upon them…

She sighed, soft and regretful. “I should get going…”

Bog looked at her sharply, dismay in his eyes. “Now?”

She smiled at him sadly, stroking a sharp cheek. “You know I would stay here all day if I could,” she said softly.  _With you, in this bed._  Bog looked slightly mollified by that, and she continued on. “But it’s almost sunrise. I need to head back. They’ll be worried.” She shrugged a shoulder, her eyes wary but glinting with a determined sort of acceptance. “Dawn and Dad. They need to know I’m okay.”

Bog still looked loath to see her go, but the look in his eyes told her he understood. It wouldn’t do to have another army show up in the Forest because of a panicked parent. There was still deep reluctance on his face as he let go of her, and Marianne gave him another kiss, thankful he wasn’t making a true fuss.

She then attempted to roll out of the bed as gracefully as she could, only to get a foot hooked upon a bit of torn moss. Trying to shake it off, she tugged too hard and reeled back when she was freed, nearly tumbling off of the bed to the floor. Thankfully Bog’s foot was there to catch and steady her, and for this she was willing to ignore the hint of a smile that lurked at his mouth. Marianne bit down on a brief scowl - apparently sex made her clumsiness come out in full force.  _Or maybe it’s just when you’re happy._

Marianne righted herself and prayed that the pink on her cheeks wasn’t too noticeable, but her mouth twitched in a smile as she rose from the bed, taking the moss with her. Tucking the blanket more securely around herself, Marianne began the hunt for her clothes. Her top was unceremoniously tossed over one of the lamps – thankfully long since burned out – but her main concern was her pants. If she could get them on first, she wouldn’t have to wrangle the moss any further, Bog had seen her without her top plenty of times –

Bog watched her from the bed, utterly unconcerned about his own exposed state –  _though of course he wouldn’t be_ , Marianne thought a touch dryly – with a look of bafflement, cocking his head. “What’s that about?”

“What?” Marianne replied absentmindedly, kicking the dragging moss out of the way as she continued her search for the elusive trousers, noting it was considerably  heavier when one had to drag it around as oppose to having it merely draped over one’s body as they slept.

“That moss business. Why d’you got it wrapped around you?”

“Because-“ Marianne paused.  _Because I’m naked and you would see my ass_ was a sound reason for fairies, but most likely not for goblins. Bog probably wouldn’t care about that – it would just be another Fairy modesty thing he would be nonplussed by. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it last night, hadn’t had his claws caressing and squeezing –

Bog waited for her to elaborate, his brow knit. “Because…?”

Marianne gave her head a little shake and laughed softly.  _To hell with it._ “Doesn’t matter,” she said, and let the moss drop to the floor in a great heap. While the cool air made her shiver a bit as she stepped over it, it was a relief to move about unhindered.

Bog continued to watch her, a look of quiet enthrallment on his face. Marianne ducked to hide her smile, once again noting just how pale she was in the half-light, her skin almost glowing. A few marks disturbed the pale, luminous perfection, a smattering of bruises decorating her breasts and thighs from where caresses and fingers had grown hard in passion, pale purple flowers blossoming upon her skin, and raw, red claw marks scratching down her sides. Marianne suddenly realized that her neck stung slightly – Bog’s bite from last night sending little throbs of possessive claim through her. Though she couldn’t see it, she could easily imagine what it looked like, stark and red and angry looking in the early morning light…

Marianne’s hand brushed over it, and her smile was almost nostalgic. He had given her a similar bite long ago, once upon a moonlit night –

But Bog’s eyes had found the marks, and his reaction was not nearly so warm. He leaned forward, his face sharpening in concern, his eyes widening before going dark.  _“Marianne –“_

“Don’t,” Marianne said, turning to face him and holding out a finger, soft but firm. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about these –“

 _“But Ah did tha’ ta ye.”_  His voice was not angry but thick with appalled recrimination, and she could see the tell-tale stain of miserable self-loathing steal over his eyes.

“Yeah, you did.” Marianne spotted her pants, tucked away in a wadded heap at the base of the bed, caught on one of the twisted roots at the base. She grabbed them and gave him a look, the amber of her gaze clear. “And I love them. No one is going to have any doubts about who I want, who I’ve chosen.” She moved closer, her voice softening. “Who chose me. I’m yours.”  _These just show that._

Bog stared at her, any further guilt stayed as her words overwhelmed him. Leaving him to his thoughts, Marianne turned back and started tugging on her pants, awkwardly trying to balance herself on one foot as she wriggled one leg down. “Besides, the bite is the only one people will talk about. It’s not like the others are gonna be visible with my clothes –“

That sparked a response in him.“I wasn’t worried about what others would say –“ Bog began, his expression verging on cross.

Marianne snorted. “Yeah, you were.” Along with his concerns over hurting her, she knew that was what troubled him the most, that he had the power to make her an object of ridicule amongst her people.

She finally finished tugging up her pants, and looked out the window, checking the sky – it was definitely getting pinker now. “Even if they do, I don’t care. The fact that I’m with you is something I would never want to hide.” She glanced at him over a shoulder, her expression both unconcerned and fierce.  “The sooner I get back there, the sooner people will understand that.”

Faced with such determination, such certainty in declaring herself to him, Bog was once again lost for words. Marianne went back to focusing on her pants, busying herself with her laces. Torn as they were by Bog’s claws, she felt they were salvageable.  _The sooner people will understand…_

_You know what you have to do._

Marianne felt her heart give a thud and spoke over her shoulder to him. “And…I need to talk to Dad. And Dawn.” She breathed in deeply, and her fingers fumbled. “I need to tell them what happened with Roland.”

Bog drew back a bit at that, surprise and concern in his face. “I…I thought it was too painful for you to –“

“It is painful,” Marianne agreed readily, and her heart thumped once more. “But…I need to do it. Too much has happened. I’ve held onto that for too long, and I’m sick of wasting anymore time on him.” She managed to make a makeshift knot of the laces and turned to face him, her face pale but calm. “I need to tell them. I need them to understand.”

_I need Dad to accept us._

Bog swung his legs over the bed, his eyes still wary as he rose. “You said that your father should have accepted what you said, even without knowing – “

“He should have,” Marianne said quietly. “But…obviously that’s not gonna happen. Not if he’s still holding onto the idea of Roland. I’m…I’m not happy about that.” She sighed and rubbed at her arms. “I’m not happy with a lot of things he’s done.” Her heart gave an unhappy twist, but she steadfastly ignored the compulsion to feel like a traitor. Her father’s biases and prejudices, the effects of his misguided actions, had been ignored for too long, brushed aside out of love and the belief that his true character was far nobler.

But last night…last night proved that something had to be done.

It would be painful and she was sure it wouldn’t be completed in one fell swoop, but it would be done.

She sighed and looked up at him as he stood over her, still so concerned. “I’m tired of holding it in,” she said simply. “And I’m tired of him doubting me. It needs to end. I need to tell him.” Her hands reached out for his, her fingers curling around his claws. “I  _want_ to tell him.”

Bog looked down at her, and though his mouth was tense and his eyes still burned with concern, he nodded slowly. “As long as you want to…”

Marianne nodded back at him before leaning against his chest, running her hands up his arms. “I do…” she murmured against his scales as he wrapped his arms around her, hands stroking warm paths between her wings as he cradled her to him.

She let out another sigh, and he dropped his head to hers, his chin tucking over her as he held her close. When he spoke, his voice rumbled through her. “You know that if you require aid, or…or anything at all, you can –“

“- Count on you,” Marianne finished, and kissed the plating segments that covered his heart. “Yeah, I do. If I need backup, I’ll let you know. But I got to talk to him first. I can take care of this…”

“You can take care of yourself…” he murmured, and Marianne felt a faint smile tug at her lips at how he knew her so well. Or maybe she was getting predictable.

Either way, the smile she gave him was warm, even as her heart still continued to beat dizzily in her breast. “Yeah…”

He gave a smile in response, a faint one that only tugged at one side of his mouth. He then ducked his head down, his eyes looking away, a tenseness creeping over his body. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft and unbearably uncertain. “…You’ll come back?”

Marianne melted even as her heart gave fierce, throbbing ache.  _Oh, Bog._  

“Of course I will,” she murmured, and she reached up a hand to stroke his cheek, soft and tender. He looked at her, and her eyes were loving and true as she met his gaze, her voice a promise in and of itself. “Always.”

He looked down again at that, and she continued to pet him. “I don’t know if it will be tonight, but I swear it will be soon.” She tugged at an ear and gave him a softly teasing grin. “Face it…after last night, you’re stuck with me.”

She was suddenly pulled even closer to him, Bog’s holding her tight. “ _Thank gods,”_  he murmured into her hair, his words warm on her scalp.  

It was too early to be reduced to tears. Marianne kept that in mind and drew in a great breath that managed to not be too shuddery, wrangling her head so that she could give his cheek a kiss. She was suddenly tempted to chuckle, torn between laughter and tears. Here she was, closer to Bog than she had ever been before, both in body and soul, and it was all because her father was still unable to accept them…

The irony was not lost on Marianne.

Bog dropped his hands from where they held her, and she gently disentangled herself and gripped his hands once more before heading out the door, stopping only to grab her top off of the lantern to tug it on, knowing that if she didn’t go now, she never would.

Bog watched her go, his expression grim but not despairing, a fellow warrior watching another go off to do battle. Marianne allowed herself one last glance at him before taking to the air and flying off to the entrance of the castle. She gave a brief exhale.  _Flying off to battle with her own father…_

Fighting with her dad had never been an  _unusual_  occurrence for Marianne, but last night had not been like any of their past ones, and neither would this one.

This one…this one had the power to break them,  _truly_  rend them apart.

Marianne had lost her family once already, walling herself away as grief and rage consumed her, betrayed on all sides. She wasn’t keen risk it all again.

But it had to be done.

And no matter what the outcome would be…

Marianne set her jaw and clenched her hands, flying straight and true to the promise of dawn, light breaking over her Fields in a glow of glory, the sun a trembling promise of the horizon of the day to come.

…Marianne would never run from a fight.


	2. Part 2

_“Daddy, how could you?!”_

Dagda stared into the dark void that had swallowed his eldest daughter, unable to respond to Dawn’s agonized wail. His heart twisted in his chest, torn between freezing in horror –  ** _how_** _could he have said it, **what**  had he been thinking –_ and racing with urgency –  _“I forbid you to fly into the Dark Forest!” - have to keep her safe, have to rescue her_ –

His feet moving of their own accord, he rushed to the window, his armor clattering, his wings flaring. He didn’t think about his weight or his age, didn’t think about how it had been ages since he had last flown, he  _had_  to go to her,  _had_  to make her understand –

There was a sharp tug at his wing, and Dagda stumbled back, uttering an oath before turning back furiously to see what he had snagged himself on, what prevented him from going after his –

Dawn’s thin hands clenched at the edge of his wing, her eyes aflame with urgency.  _“Daddy, you can’t!”_

Dagda tried to wrest himself away from her clasp without damaging his wing.  _“Dawn, I have to –“_

“Marianne said not to follow her!”

“Marianne isn’t in her right mind!” Dagda tugged himself free and threw out a hand to the window. “You saw her! She was positively –“

_“Which is why we can’t follow her!_  If we do –“

“If we don’t, she could be killed!” Dagda valiantly tried to ignore the burn of horrible, wretched guilt in his chest.  _I should be going after her, I should be taking action–_

_A King would do that for his heir –_

_A father would do that for his child_  –

_Marianne, I’m so_ -

Consumed by his thoughts, Dagda moved to the window, and Dawn threw herself in front of him, her arms outstretched, her wings flaring. “If we do, we lose her again! She’s not in danger! Right now, that’s where she’s gonna be the safest! Where she’ll  _feel_  the safest!”

Dagda could only blindly scan the night outside the window, barely registering Dawn or her words. If he had, he probably would have given the most wretched laugh.  _The Dark Forest, **safe**?_

His breath was short and his body was cold in his once sweltering armor.  “I – I need to go after her,” Dagda said, his face ashen and lost. “I – I need to –“

_“No!”_  Dawn’s voice was frantic, her eyes wide with desperation. “Remember what she said! She told us not to follow her!”

_“Dawn, enough!”_  Dagda’s voice was harsh with impatience and concern as purpose began to fill him. He couldn’t waste any time, Marianne needed him. He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself, he was her father–

He hadn’t gone after her the first time.  _Never again._

He sidestepped his youngest, his face contorting in a stubborn grimace fraught with deep worry. “What Marianne said doesn’t matter, I need to –“

**_“YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO HER!”_ **

Dagda froze at the bellowed words, shocked into stillness that such a thunderous command had come from his little girl, that her petite frame was capable of summoning up such power…

Dawn stamped her foot, her sweet face contorted in frustration. “ _OH MY GOD!_  Do you not  _hear_ yourself, Daddy?! That’s what caused all of this in the first place! You not listening to Marianne! You ignoring her! First with Roland, and now this! Damn it, you will _never_  get her back if you go after her now!”

Dagda’s response was automatic, drilled in by fatherhood, inane as it sounded and numb with shock as he felt. “Don’t swear, Dawn –“

_“Damn hell ass,”_  Dawn shot back, crossing her arms and glaring at him. The blue of her eyes positively simmered as her father gaped at her, and her rosebud mouth set itself in a determined scowl. “Now that we got _that_  out of the way, maybe you can start freaking  _listening_  to me,  _then_  to Marianne!”

Dawn’s slender shoulders were heaving, her eyes glistening with furious, unshed tears. Dagda found himself torn between the paternal instinct to comfort his distressed child and pure shock. He had never seen his baby girl like this.  _Marianne is supposed to be the angry one._

He ignored the nonsensical thought and studied his little girl cautiously, as though she were a new and untamable creature he didn’t want to provoke. It was simply  _strange_  to see her like this - Dawn’s eyes got wide with apprehension or delight, she shook with excitement or nerves, not  _rage_ , certainly not rage directed at  _him_ , righteous fury in every delicate line of her –

Dagda was struck, in the sheer surreality of the moment, how much his girls truly  _did_  resemble each other. To the casual eye, they had always been as different as night and day, but now –

_Leave it to anger to show that they’re flesh and blood_.

Dawn was too lost to her anger to notice his shocked scrutiny and gave a great sigh of frustration and regret. “Daddy, you absolutely  _cannot_  go after Marianne, not after what you did. If you did, it’s just gonna…I don’t know,  _reinforce_  that you haven’t learned anything from what happened with Roland!” 

At that, Dagda drew back, affronted. “I most certainly  _did_  learn -!”

“No, Daddy,” Dawn countered, effectively cutting him off, her eyes large and serious. “You didn’t learn what really counts. You still aren’t listening to Marianne. You still don’t trust her to make her own decisions.”

Dagda gaped at her before a swell of righteous fury washed over him. _“I trust - how dare you, Dawn –“_

“Do you want to have another daughter run away from you tonight, Daddy?” Dawn said, her voice high but with a cold snap to it. “Because that’s  _not_ gonna happen. I’ve let this go on for too long, watched you and Marianne butt heads all the time, and I was too  _afraid_  too say anything, too afraid that you would – that you would treat  _me_  like you treat  _her_.”

She crossed her arms, and Dagda only had room for one stunned thought –  _like I treat her?_  – before she continued on. “Well, that’s over. It’s – it’s time for me to step up. So you can be angry all you want, Dad. But first  _you’re_ gonna have to step up and be the King and the father you should have been, and actually  _listen.”_

Dagda could only stare at Dawn, his fair little Dawn, her blue eyes bright and frosty, her slender arms crossed resolutely.  _The father you should have been…_

Words from long ago, the haze of painful recollection and the dust of time long since clouding them, suddenly came to him –

_“I…I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not strong enough, I’m not…I wasn’t born to rule as you were, my love. I…I can’t be the King the people need, the one you deserve at your side – you’re better off without me -“_

_“Dagda, enough. I love you. Your birthright doesn’t stop that, nothing could. I love you, and I am stronger because of that. And…if you love me as much as I love you…a Queen couldn’t ask for a better King at her side. We’ll do this together, like we’re supposed to.”_

_“Aren’t you scared?”_

_“Of course I am! It was always going to be scary…but the best adventures usually are.”_

Dagda’s heart throbbed with pain as the echo of his wife’s warm, sincere tones reverberated through his old bones, his lonely soul.  _Darling…_

He had thought he had been a good King, even after the devastation of her loss…

He had thought he had been a good father, despite the troublesome balance of raising girls and ruling a Kingdom…

Had he been wrong?

Had he failed her? Failed his girls? His kingdom?

Dagda recoiled, faltering. Surely not, surely he hadn’t been so blind –

_You were blind about Roland._

Dagda flinched, and Dawn’s stern front cracked a bit, concern for her father coming through the cornflower blue of her gaze.

Dagda was too consumed with the torment of his thoughts and emotions to notice.

He _had_  been blind about Roland before witnessing just what the Fairy Knight he had so easily and eagerly seen as his successor had been willing to do to his Marianne, how that handsome, golden face sported only a triumphant grin as he threw that glittery pink poison at her, making Dagda’s heart seize in horror– 

If he had been so blind about him, could he have been deaf to his girls as well?

Dagda’s shoulders slumped, his armor clanking dejectedly. He would never get answers to these questions by letting them chase after each other in his mind.

Dawn…Dawn was right, the very least he could do was listen to her before he went after –

_Marianne, staring at him, her lovely eyes wet and burning and betrayed, her voice harsh as granite. **“Don’t follow me.”**_

Dagda sighed once more.  _One daughter at a time._  He looked at Dawn and gave her a nod that erred on the side of timid.

Dawn squared her shoulders, obviously girding herself for what was going to be a lengthy lecture. “Dad…you hurt Marianne tonight.” Despite her obvious anger at him, there was a reluctance in Dawn’s tone that revealed her dislike of saying such a thing. Dagda still had to fight hard to remain stoic under such a harsh truth. “But…that’s not the first time you’ve done that. I don’t  _why_  you thought it was _okay_  to bring up Roland after everything –!“

“I  _didn’t,_  it just slipped out -!”

“All that means is that you’re still holding onto him in some way!” Dawn said empathetically, frowning. “After what he did to her, imagine how that must have made her feel!”

There was no need to imagine it. The look of raw betrayal on Marianne’s face burned through Dagda’s mind, and a fresh wave of guilt and shame swept over his skin in a prickling wave.

His cheeks flushing behind his beard, he looked away as Dawn bit her lip but continued on. “You hurt her. But…you’ve been hurting her for a while now. Before tonight, before Bog. Ever since Marianne called the wedding to Roland off, Daddy, you…you haven’t listened to her.”

And even though a part of him knew that he should simply do penance, Marianne came by her stubbornness honestly. “Dawn, that isn’t fair, I have -!”

“No,  _you’re_  the one who’s not being fair!” Dawn’s frustration and anger came back in full force, and she stamped her foot, throwing her hands up in the air for good measure. “Not now, not then! You didn’t listen to Marianne when she said she was done with Roland! You didn’t listen to her when she said she was done with Love!”

“She was miserable!” Dagda shot back. “A life without Love barely constitutes as a life! I wanted her to be happy!”

“Because she was easier to deal with when she was happy, wasn’t she?” Dawn demanded, setting her hands on her hips.

Dagda pulled back at that, thrown. He had wanted Marianne to be happy, he  _had_  –

_“I just want to see the happy Marianne I used to know –“_

His sweet, clumsy, forthright Marianne. Romantic Marianne with her kind, open-as-the-skies heart. Passionate Marianne with her wild ideas, bringing color to his world, banishing all dullness and misery…

His firstborn had always been…well, a bit of a handful, but  _happy_. Despite her dark looks, Marianne had been his messy bit of sunlight, spilling her warmth onto everything she touched.  _So very easy to love, his sweet, strange, happy girl…_

And then she had met Roland, so dashing and handsome and gallant, and the sheer light of her joy had rivaled the sun -

But when she had called off the wedding, when everything had changed…

Dagda had been utterly lost, grasping at straws to understand what had happened. He had been at the alter with Roland, his vast joy and pride at seeing his eldest marry gradually transforming into disquietude as the wait stretched on and on…

And then flat out shock had reigned when Dawn had told him Marianne’s message, her blue eyes wide and concerned, darting to Roland –

_“Roland – my boy, what could have – did something happen? Why would Marianne -?”_

_“Ah, well…this is just a… **misunderstanding** , your majesty. Teensy little hiccup! No fear, I’m sure Marianne will come to her senses –_“

After that fateful day, his happy Marianne was gone.

In her place was a wild and dark and bitter young woman who scorned Love and all of her previous ideals, all of her once beloved values and dreams. Before, she had made a proper effort to fit in with others, devoted the right amount of attention and concern in making the right impression. Whether or not she succeeded had been another matter, but at least she had tried -

Afterwards, she hadn’t cared whom she offended or made uncomfortable with her wild ways, her bone-dry wit, her flinty cynicism and dour anger…

_So full of anger and misery…_

Dagda hadn’t the faintest idea of how to reach this angry and remote person who had replaced his happy girl, not a single clue on how to control her rampant… _uniqueness_ …

He hadn’t known his own daughter anymore…

Dawn watched her father become increasingly caught in his thoughts, and sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Dad,  _I get it_. Marianne  _was_  hard to deal with. I hated seeing her so unhappy, too. And how she started  _hovering_ over me -  _so_ annoying!” She looked down at her hands, twisting them a bit. “I made it pretty obvious to her, how I hated that she didn’t trust me anymore.” She gave a tiny sigh. “I always ended up ignoring her anyway.”

Dagda made a noncommittal noise at that – Marianne’s protectiveness of Dawn had been one of the few things he had appreciated about her sudden transformation, keeping her flirty ways under control, steering her away from all of those boys…

Dawn frowned at him, clearly knowing what he was thinking. “But that’s the thing, Daddy! I may have not listened to her in other ways, but I never once tried to tell her to take Roland back! I saw that he had hurt her, Dad. I  _trusted_  her decision!” Dawn’s bright blue eyes, eyes that never failed to remind Dagda of his beloved wife, burned with disappointment. “You  _didn’t._ You didn’t listen to her. You didn’t trust her, and you didn’t respect her.”

Dagda sputtered. “ _Not respect her -?!”_

Dawn stood firm, planting her feet like a flower reaching down roots. “No, you didn’t. Marianne made it clear to you so many times that she wasn’t going to give Roland a second chance, that she didn’t  _want_  to give him a second chance. And you ignored her each time, always tried to push her back to him, always encouraged Roland to go after her. Even after it was obvious that he had hurt her!” Dawn heaved a great sigh of frustration and looked at her father in bewildered misery. “Did – did that mean  _anything_  to you? Knowing that he hurt her, knowing that  _he_  was the one responsible for making her so miserable?”

Dagda was torn between offense and wanting to squirm. “Dawn – that’s…you  _know_  it meant something, dear, you  _know_  I hated seeing her like that, being so unhappy!”

_“Then why try to make her give Roland a second chance?!”_

“Because he  _had_  made her happy!” Dagda burst out. “They  _were_  happy together, Dawn, and they were  _right_  together, just like your mother and me –“

Dagda’s voice abruptly guttered out as soon as his words reached his ears, and silence rang in the dining chamber.

Dawn’s face was sorrowful with understanding. “ _Had_  made her happy, Dad.” She said quietly. “ _Looked_  right together. But Marianne and Roland were never you or Mom.”

Dagda looked away from the pain in her soft blue eyes, deeply shaken. He – he hadn’t meant to say that, had never actually realized he had seen them like that –

_The dark haired Crown Princess falling head over heels for a Fairy Knight from a noble but meager house, not a drop of royal blood to his name…_

_He had felt an immediate connection to the handsome lad, knew all too well the pressures of marrying into the throne_  –

Dagda’s throat got tight; he was so overcome by such a reveal, this part of him he hadn’t even been aware of, and the sudden wave of memories –

Marianne and Roland had even met the same way as they had, at the Spring Ball –

Dawn sighed, shaking her head. “As for Roland making her happy…I don’t know, Daddy. I always got this… _feeling_  about him. He was good-looking, obviously, and yeah, Marianne was crazy about him, but…” She sighed once more, rubbing at her arms. “He never really seemed to be… _happier_  around her, y’know? She didn’t make him smile.” She suddenly snorted. “Not that he ever  _stopped_ smiling…” she muttered to herself.

Dagda wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Dawn–“

Dawn continued on, her voice getting faster, her words tumbling out. “And he would  _always_  make these little comments, always make her feel  _so_  self-conscious, always make her  _doubt_  herself, so that  _he_  could be there to make her feel better, so that  _he_ was the one -!”

She suddenly bowed her head, her fluff of golden locks drooping. “I should have said something.” Her voice was soft, pain and guilt staining it. “She  _asked_  me, and – and I knew _something_  wasn’t right, but…all I had was a  _feeling,_  and she was just so  _happy_  –“ 

“Because he made her –“ Dagda attempted.

“Well that sure changed!” Dawn retorted, her head coming up and her fists going back to her hips as she glared at him. “It doesn’t matter if she was happy with him before, Daddy! It doesn’t change that he hurt her!” Her eyes looked down, staring at something he couldn’t see, and her shoulders hunched as she spoke, her voice troubled and hushed. “I  _saw_  her that day, Daddy. I saw her crying on her bed like her heart was breaking. I…I never forgot that. I guess…I guess that’s why I had never tried to tell Marianne to give him another chance. No matter what he did…he made my sister cry.”

Something in Dagda crumbled as he looked at her, so lost to whatever painful memory she was seeing. She and Marianne had been so close before it all…

_He made her cry…_

Dagda had never seen his eldest like that. Tears of temper when she was a toddler, all too often, but those didn’t count. Her grief over her mother’s passing had been dry-eyed, her sorrow beyond tears. But tears of heartbreak…

He hadn’t seen those, hadn’t seen his girl like that. He had been with Roland…

_“This is just a misunderstanding…”_

“A  _misunderstanding_  wouldn’t have made her cry like  _that_ , Daddy,” Dawn said shortly, making Dagda start. He hadn’t even realized he had said Roland’s words aloud –

Dawn continued on, obviously getting hot with anger once more. “And I know that you wanted her to be happy, Daddy. But you wanted her to be happy on _your_  terms! And you still do! Marianne’s right – she’s happy with who she is, happy with Bog, happy for the first time in ages,  _and you can’t accept it because it’s not how you wanted it to be!_ You can’t accept it because some  _stupid_  part of you can’t let go of someone like Roland being your successor, because you  _saw_  yourself in him, never mind that he would have made an  _awful_  King. You’re still ignoring her because that’s  _easier_  for you to do than look at yourself and admit that you were wrong, that you  _are_ wrong -!”

“I  _was_  wrong, but –“ Dagda interjected.

“But nothing, Dad.” Dawn’s voice was horribly final. “Saying that you were wrong means nothing if you obviously haven’t learned anything from it. You ignored Marianne countless times, constantly pushed her to take him back, even though he hurt her –“

“But she never told us how!” Dagda said desperately. “If we had known –“

“No, she didn’t.” Dawn looked down, her brow furrowed and her fingers knitting together. “But…she…she shouldn’t have  _had_  to. We’re her family. We’re supposed to choose  _her_ , support  _her_. We were supposed to have _listened_  to her. It doesn’t matter how Roland hurt her.  _He hurt her_. That’s enough. And…” Dawn’s shoulders shook a bit, but she soldiered on bravely. “And we both dismissed that. But… _you_  were the one to go too far.”

Dagda could only mouth at her soundlessly, couldn’t even think of what to say. 

_Well, good. That makes listening all the more easy for you, doesn’t it?_

Dagda froze as his wife’s voice echoed through his mind, her tone as tart as a berry, the way it always got if she thought he was being particularly slow…

Dagda sighed.  _I’m trying, dear_.

His introspection was interrupted by another sigh from Dawn, and the frustration in it mixed with sad bewilderment. “Daddy… _why_  do you hate Bog? I thought – you’ve met with him in the past, haven’t you? I thought you got along then –“

“I don’t hate him,” Dagda said automatically, but he meant it. He had never held any particular vicious grudge against Bog.  _Never had a reason to until now._

Dagda ignored that poisonous thought and instead focused on his daughter’s sweet, troubled face. “Dawn, darling…the Bog King is –“

“A King,” Dawn said, her mouth getting tight. “A King just like you.” Dagda flinched at the echo of Marianne’s angry words, the memory of how her voice cracked hitting him hard.

But Dawn had a particular form of mercilessness that, while she didn’t use it often, was dangerously savvy when she did. And tonight it was directed at  _him._ “Don’t you see him as a King? Haven’t you respected him as one?”

“I have, and I do,” Dagda answered quickly. “He’s…he’s a far different ruler than I am, but…the Light Fields _are_  far different than the Dark Forest.”  _They’re safer, they’re known –_

“Then it’s not because you don’t see him as a King,” Dawn murmured, and her eyes were once more horribly disappointed. “It’s because you see him as a Goblin, first and foremost.”

Dagda’s cheeks burned at that, but he did not do her the disservice of denying it. “Yes, I do,” he said quietly. “Because he  _is_. A Goblin, who after years of keeping a powerful sprite captive, decided to come into my lands and threaten my subjects at one of our beloved festivals. A Goblin who overwhelmed the Royal Guard.” And oh, that had  _burned,_  to know how _unprepared_  they had been, how  _easily_  the dark and terrifying King had them at his mercy, a horrifying and humiliating reminder at his own inadequacy at protecting his people, his family…

Dagda walked over to the dining table, leaning his fists upon it, his breath short and his eyes squeezed shut as he relived it, saw it so clearly in his minds eyes –

_Dawn’s sweet face, clouded in a pink, glittering haze, disappearing under that sack, her frightened calls for help as she had been dragged away, **his little girl, they had taken his baby girl –**_

“A Goblin who  _kidnapped_  you,” Dagda said fiercely, and he looked over his shoulder at Dawn, his eyes bright with remembered pain and the injustice of it all. “How –  _how_  can you forgive him for that, Dawn? How can Marianne?”

“Because I  _can_ , Daddy. Boggy isn’t proud of what he did that night,” Dawn said quietly. “I know he regrets it, and not just because of me getting hit with the Love Potion. Daddy…Bog kept me  _safe._  Everything that happened that night…I could have been seriously hurt if it hadn’t been for him. He kept the other goblins from eating me –“

_“Eating you?!”_

“Relax, Dad.” Dawn sighed and joined him at the table, leaning against it next to him. “He could have thrown me to the Forest, what with how annoying I was being, all loopy from the Love Potion, but…he put me in the dungeon to keep me safe, keep me near. Sure, I was the  _bait_ , but…he visited me and he was…he was  _kind_. He didn’t  _want_  me to suffer, he  _knew_  the situation was unfair for me.” She fixed him with a frank gaze. “Daddy, I wouldn’t be so supportive of Marianne being with him if I didn’t know what he was really like. Beneath all the snarls and grumpiness, Bog’s a sweetheart. He  _loves_  Marianne.”

It was Dagda’s turn to sigh. “Dawn,  _sweethearts_  don’t kidnap Princesses –“

“They do if they feel its their only option,” Dawn countered.

“That doesn’t negate what he did!”

“It doesn’t,” Dawn agreed. “But believe me, Bog made up for it. I wasn’t joking when I said I could have been seriously hurt if it weren’t for him. Bog saved my life, Daddy. When the Castle was collapsing, and…” She hesitated and looked away, her face full of pained recollection. “You said that sweethearts don’t kidnap princesses. Well, heroes aren’t supposed to threaten them.”

Dagda stared at her, desperately confused. “ _Threaten -?_  Dawn, I don’t –“

“Roland had a sword at my neck,” Dawn said quietly. “As soon as things started looking bad for him, as soon as Boggy stopped him from Dusting Marianne that first time, he – he grabbed me. I had been scared of Bog getting hurt by him, I was too close, and –“

She fell silent, her soft blue eyes haunted.

Dagda, meanwhile, could only feel a numb horror sink heavily into the pit of his stomach like a stone into a stream…

The man he had entrusted an army to – the Knight who had sworn to protect the Royal Family no matter what the cost – the man who he had  _sent_ to fetch back his sweet girl –

_He had threatened the life of his baby, his Dawn, innocent, trusting Dawn who had never so much as harmed a fly, held a sword to her slender throat –_

“You…you never told me…” Dagda said shakily. A cold and unforgiving prickle of realization crept underneath his armor and down his spine. Roland could have  _killed_  her, killed her without any regard, tossed her body aside as soon as she stopped being of use to him…

“I don’t like to think about it,” Dawns said simply, her eyes still full of shadows. She then gave a wry smile. “You know, that’s probably  _why_ Marianne never told us what happened that day. Hurts to remember.” Her smile dropped and she sighed once more, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, goose bumps prickling them despite the muggy heat. “The only reason I’m alive is because of Bog and Marianne, Bog especially. He fought Roland, got me out of the Castle when it was collapsing. He was willing to let it crush him as long as Marianne and I got free…”

She then shot him a narrow look, some of her earlier fire returning to her, her mouth pursing. “So don’t you  _dare_  try to imply that being a Goblin is something – something  _bad_  or  _lesser_  or  _whatever_ , Daddy. It was a Goblin who saved my life, who was willing to die for some little Love Dusted Fairy he barely knew!” Her eyes had an uncommonly shrewd glint to them as she fixed him with a hard stare. “Would  _you_  have done that? For a Goblin you barely knew?”  

Dagda gaped and stammered. “I – well, I would _hope_  –“

“Of course you would,” Dawn sighed. “You’re not heartless, Daddy. But…” she squirmed but crossed her arms resolutely. “…You  _are_  too set in your ways. How you think about goblins and fairies and –“ Dawn flushed slightly but persevered, “ – and elves. It’s not good. It needs to change.  _You_  need to change.”

Dagda was torn. A part of him  _knew_  that she was right, knew with no small amount of discomfort that he had gotten blind due to comforting tradition, was aware some biases might have indeed taken root in his heart, but –

“It’s not just me, darling,” he explained, anxiety making his stomach grumble – although that might have been a demand for his long denied dinner. He tried to focus, meeting her eyes so she could see his earnestness, his worry. “This Kingdom…yes, matches between different sections isn’t something that is looked…” he vainly tried to think of the appropriate word, “… _fondly_  on. It’s a view that many nobles here share –“

“Because they’re prejudiced,” Dawn said tartly, arching a decidedly unimpressed brow at her father. He could practically hear her thoughts finishing the sentence.  _And so are you._

Dagda bowed his head, his crown heavy upon it. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “They are. But…they hold power, dear. A King alone does not make a Kingdom, and neither does a Queen. They  _must_  have the support of their subjects, of their Council. And these nobles make up the Council, hold rank in Court!”

He looked at his youngest, and his words were low and urgent.  _“The Court that Marianne will one day rule_. And she’s choosing to rule with a Goblin by her side. How – how stable will her reign be if she does that?” His voice cracked as he continued on, fear coursing through him. “How  _safe_  will she be? They’ll deride her, mock her –“

“They already do, Dad,” Dawn said, her voice torn between frankness and pain. “People…people have  _always_  talked about Marianne, there’s always gonna be someone who will make fun of her –“

“This is different!” Dagda said, and he couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of his voice. “This could crumble the Kingdom -!”

“Or it will make it  _stronger_ ,” Dawn said firmly, cutting him off. “Daddy, those nobles might be powerful, but they’re not  _all_ powerful! And I’m sorry, but they won’t be around forever!” At the look on her father’s face she gave a huge, gusty groan. “ _Oh my gosh,_ Daddy, I’m not saying that they’re  _done_   _for_ or anything, but  _they’re_  the ones who are struggling with this! If you had been paying attention, Marianne’s diplomacy program is super popular with the young people in this Kingdom! They  _want_  to learn more about the Dark Forest,  _want_  to see where this goes! Marianne’s rule is gonna be for  _them!”_

Dagda listened to her words with a distinct feeling of his head getting overstuffed, his thoughts thickening into a stodgy mess from an overload of information and emotions. Between the fierce emotions his dispute with Marianne had unleashed and the unnerving frankness of Dawn, Dagda was suddenly struck by the fact that he was utterly exhausted, beyond fatigued.  _I can’t take anymore that this night will bring._

His voice was frayed and pleading when he spoke. “Dawn,  _please_ –“

But as tired as Dagda felt, Dawn only seemed to burn all the more with passionate energy. “And you know what? What you said about Sunny was  _totally_ unfair, Daddy! He would be  _great_  on the Council! If you’re gonna say that he shouldn’t be on there because he was easily manipulated, well – you have  _no right_  to criticize him, because you were too! You  _both_  made the mistake of trusting Roland!”

She pushed herself away from the table and turned to face him, arms crossed and eyes slitted, her fair face thunderous. “So you’re gonna  _stop_ holding that against Sunny. You’re gonna  _stop_  thinking of Roland as a way for you to relive your glory days.” Dagda flinched at that, but Dawn continued on, her cheeks pink with emotion. “You’re gonna _stop_  thinking that he and Marianne would have made a great couple just because they  _looked_ nice together, and you’re gonna stop thinking that he would have made her happy when he never even  _cared_  about her! You’re gonna  _stop_ thinking he would have made her a stronger ruler when they were  _never_ equals to begin with!

Dawn’s voice was getting louder, passionate with conviction. “He  _never_ respected her,  _never_ cared for her! He made her,  _the heir to the throne_ , feel like he was doing her a  _favor_  by being with her! He only saw her as a way to the crown!” Dawn’s cheeks were now scarlet, her eyes shining with tears, her voice loud and unbroken. “Bog respects her! Bog  _loves_  her! She’s a Princess and he looks at her like she’s a Queen! No - you know what? Bog looks at her and doesn’t see a crown or a Princess!  _He sees **her**!”_

She stabbed a finger at him, and Dagda jumped back as if it were an actual weapon. “So you’re  _NOT_  gonna go after Marianne tonight! You’re gonna show her that you  _can_  accept her and Bog, that you  _can_  change, and you’re gonna start  _now!”_  Dawn drew herself up to her full height and glared at her father with all the venom she could muster. “You’re going to do what you should have done from the start,  _AND **LISTEN**  TO MARIANNE!”_

And with that, she stormed out of the room, stamping out the door, too enraged to even think about flying.

Dagda watched her go, his eyes wide and his hands shaky as he withdrew them from his ears. Dawn had always had a piercing voice when she wanted to use it…

He slowly slumped against the table in an inelegant sprawl he hadn’t done since he was young and untrained in Royal decorum. But now his body was like a stone, weighed down by everything that had occurred this evening…

Dawn’s voice, so normally sweet and pure, scorched with disappointment and sharp with condemning truth, echoed through him, her words chasing after each other -

_“You’re gonna have to step up and be the King and the father you should have been –“_

_“I **trusted**  her decision! – You didn’t. You didn’t listen to her. You didn’t trust her, and you didn’t respect her - ”_

_“Marianne’s right – she’s happy with who she is, happy with Bog, happy for the first time in ages, **and you can’t accept it**  -  _

_“You see him as a Goblin, first and foremost –“_

_“ – A sword at my throat – “_

Cold, sickening regret and horror mixed with burning hot shame in the pit of his stomach, a nauseating brew that spread its poison to every inch of him -

A new voice joined the writhing mass of his thoughts, the warm alto a trembling croak, an agonized and bewildered plea -     

_“How could you? How could you say – after **everything** , after you saw what he tried to do to me – after –  **how could you?”**_

Dagda’s eyes closed and his head bowed as the sheer weight of his disgust and mortification settled over him. It had been years since he last properly flew, but now he felt condemned to the earth, barred from the freedom and openness that the skies offered –

_Her warm openness, her vast heart, forever barred from him now, and it was all his fault_  –

And he  _deserved_  such banishment.

_Oh god, Marianne, I am so sorry._

The mugginess of the evening was rendered null and void by the tumult of his thoughts. He felt both cold and clammy and scrubbed raw, Dawn’s words scraping over him with their brutal, unyielding honesty.

Such words had obviously been a long time coming to be delivered with such fearsome conviction by Dawn, of all people. His baby girl had always been flighty, he and Marianne had agreed, teasing her over it gently, fluttering in both her manner and her thoughts.

Or so he had thought…

_I don’t know either of my daughters_.

Dagda’s head sunk lower at that, further proof of how  _far_  he had fallen, how  _deeply_  he had failed his girls, his Kingdom –

_Roland made her cry._

_I made her run._

His exhale was thready with exhaustion and sharp with self-contempt. Dawn was right, right about _everything_  -

Marianne…Marianne had always been happy and unique, but Dagda had only ever felt comfortable with the one. She was tough and tender, capable and clumsy, a thousand glorious contradictions, and he –

He had been thrown by it, the seeming clash of her personality. He hadn’t been able to accept all those sides, accept  _her_. He had tried to make her  _change_ , conform to his ideals, ideals he was only just beginning to realize just how warped they were –

Quieting her passion, hushing her uniqueness, stifling everything that made her  _Marianne_. And he had meant so well…

His love had been a well-intentioned vine, wrapping around her out of concern and affection only to choke her –

Dagda gave a miserable moan. He had loved her, but never understood her. He had tried to help her, but had hurt her. He had wanted her not to be alone, but had only made her feel all the more bereft, her pleas unheard and her pain unseen.

_Willingly deaf, desperately blind. She tried to tell you from the start, and you dismissed her –_

Dagda passed a hand over his face, his throat tight. He had loved his girls with all his soul, all his heart –

_What is Love without acceptance? Without respect?_

Dagda sighed, miserable and dejected.  _I don’t know. I don’t know anything now._

…No. That wasn’t true.

He knew that he had to make things right.

Dagda straightened up, his armor softly clanking, and pushed his crown up from where it had slid down his brow, and set his jaw determinedly.

He had done horrible harm to his already wounded daughter, to  _both_  his girls, had let comfort and privilege and security blind him and weaken his rule, his Kingdom.

He had put his trust in false, handsome faces, and harbored distrust for those whose only crime was to be  _different_ …

_No more._

He had tried to tell himself that the way he had reacted and resisted Marianne and Bog’s relationship was natural for a father, easily excused.

But after spending all those days, all that time, hoping and praying that his eldest would give Love another chance, spending so many fruitless and frustrating hours wishing…

His reaction should have been joy when he saw the warm glow in her eyes, the soft thankful happiness of her smile as she had twined her fingers with the tall, dark and scaly Goblin…

Instead, Dagda had shielded his eyes in disgust. He now closed them in bone-deep shame.

A Goblin, as different from a Fairy as night was to day…

A Goblin who had been born to rule when he had not. A Goblin who was as savage as his realm demanded him to be. A Goblin who threatened both of his girls, only to save them, nearly sacrificing himself in the process.  

A Goblin whose eyes had watched Marianne as though she held both the moon and sun under her skin, skies on her wings and starlight in her eyes…

A Goblin who made his precious girl happy, when for so long Dagda thought he would never see a true smile from her again…

A Goblin who loved his daughter, and whom his daughter loved.

Dagda sighed and straightened his spine.  _There. You’ve done it._

He knew it wasn’t so easy, that there was only so much that sternness and shame could do. He still had to make amends to Marianne and Dawn, Marianne especially. Dawn was right – it didn’t matter what had happened that long ago day. He should have  _never_  been so easily taken in by Roland,  _never_  trusted him over his own flesh and blood.  _A King shouldn’t be so easily swayed_.

_A father shouldn’t be so willingly blind…_

Dagda sighed once more before standing up, walking over to the windows to stare into the vast darkness, the moon still only just climbing the sky…

The happy Marianne he used to know was gone, had been gone for a while now…

Instead, a new Marianne stood in her place, one who loved and trusted and opened herself to others despite the scars on her heart. One who was stronger and secure, relishing in who she was instead of attempting to hide it.

One who was happy in a way that Dagda wasn’t sure he would ever understand, but was now willing to try.

Marianne  _was_  happy, and he had been too wrapped up in self-centered nostalgia to see.

Dagda turned away from the window and made his way to the door, passing the still unconsumed food. His normally unquenchable appetite was demolished after the emotional devastation of the evening, but something else was growing all the more stronger.

The hour was too late to truly begin anything, though he was sure a sleepless night was ahead of him nonetheless. But a new day would dawn tomorrow, with new chances of redemption…

And new uncertainties born of the wounds from tonight.

There was no guarantee of what would happen after this, if his attempts to right his wrongs would even succeed.

And even if he _did_  make things right,  _did_  open his blind eyes to the biases rooted in his Council and Kingdom and heart,  _did_  make promises to stop bullying Sunny,  _did_ start learning all the intricacies of Marianne’s diplomacy program and  _did_  extend a sincere hand to the Dark Forest, to the King who held his daughter’s heart…

There was no guarantee that Marianne would forgive him.

And though his soul quaked at the thought –  _he had only just got her back, only just realized how blinded he had been_ \- Dagda would not be able to blame her.

He reached the door, extending a hand to open it before pausing, more words from the evening coming back to him.

_“How_  –  ** _how_**   _can you forgive him for that, Dawn? How can Marianne?”_

_“Because I_   ** _can_** ,  _Daddy.”_

Dagda shook his head, silently awed. Between Marianne’s fieriness and Dawn’s sheer grace of character, the memory of his departed Queen had never been stronger…

Stubbornness and the capacity for grudges came all too easily to him, a trait he had passed onto Marianne, for better or worse. It was a small wonder that biases had festered in his heart. He felt a great wave of overwhelming gratitude that as bull-headed as she got, Marianne’s character had never once carried such a stain…

Yet his girls had always been openhearted and willing to forgive, their warmth deep and instinctual. Now that he thought about it, it had been one of the things that had shocked him so with the Roland mis –  _affair_ , that Marianne, normally so trusting and willing to forgive, had been bitterly adamant in refusing him a second chance.

Before tonight, Dagda was positive that he could simply ask them for their forgiveness and they would just as simply grant it to him. It was what one did for family.  _Family you could trust…_

But now…

Dagda breathed in deep and clutched the door handle desperately.  _Please let me be forgiven._

He heard her as clearly as if she was standing behind him, touching his shoulder in that familiar and dearly missed gesture of comfort. _Be worthy of their forgiveness, Dagda. Be willing to listen._

Dagda’s breath caught in his throat.  _I’ll try. For you. For them._

It was all he could do. Perhaps he would succeed, perhaps he would fail. Between the darkness of the night and the turmoil in his heart, the path was not clear. There was no way of knowing what tomorrow would bring…

Dagda set his jaw and clenched his hands, throwing open the door and heading to his chambers to start a long night of pacing his balcony, scanning the skies for any sign of his daughter and consumed with guilt and worry.

But for now, walking down the hall, Dagda felt only the burn of determination. It would be a new dawn in more ways than one…

Whatever the outcome, however open Marianne’s heart would be…

Dagda was done with failing his girls.


	3. Part 3

The light of morning stole steadily across the sky, a the dim blue glow with a blush of pink and a glow of gold edging it, bathing Fields and turning each drop of dew into a scintillating jewel of captured light. The awaited sunrise held all the promise of being a spectacular one, rendering the land in rapturous glory. 

But the beauty to come was lost upon Dagda as he was roused from slumber by the slow but steady approaching light of dawn. Sleepily muttering to himself, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton, he wearily opened his eyes and immediately groaned as the light of the sky pierced them, pale and inoffensive thing that it was.

_Sunrise_ …something that had always been full of promise and hope, a clean start. This one was only just beginning, and it was already heralding a day of bright beauty the likes of which only his land could provide. No one could argue that the Light Fields did not come by their title honestly.

But as bright and hopeful as the day would be was as dark and distressed as Dagda felt.

His eyes squinted as cautiously as they could and were still burned by the soft morning glow, the faint primrose pink now strong enough to glaze the smooth floor of the grand balcony. Dagda groaned miserably as it stole past the wide archway into the Royal Chamber, and climbed as soft and surely as vines up the stone walls, the minerals and mica in the there catching the soft wash of light in a dull sparkle, transformed into something seemingly precious and magical.

Such a sight held no allure for Dagda as he grew increasingly more awake; memories of last night burning with painful clarity through the haze that his restless slumber had put him in…

_Last night…_

**_“Don’t follow me.”_ **

_“You’re going to do what you should have done from the start, AND **LISTEN**  TO MARIANNE!”_

It wasn’t just his eyes that burned as a withering furl of shame curled like a horrible snarling vine through Dagda’s heart, making his chest tight and hot against the chill of his armor, and his groan this time was heart sore rather than annoyed and tired.

Not sure how to combat such troubling feelings, he occupied himself by attempting to get up from the chair he had settled into last night as the moon had waned and the hours grew small.

After returning to his chambers, Dagda had tasked himself with restlessly and relentlessly pacing the long stretch of the balcony, an activity that had consumed several worry filled hours until his aching feet could take no more. He had been forced to take the chair from his desk and set it up by the archway so to scan the moonlit sky, his vision blurring black and silver as the night stretched on. Small wonder his eyes burned so after all that strain…

But such was the price and duty of the worried parent, awaiting any signal, any sign that promised the safe return of their child.

_Any sign, please, any sign at all, any hint of return, any promise that she’s safe, that she will come back to me –_

_That I haven’t lost her once more-_

Dagda wilted. Or, he would have, if not for the fact that he was still stuck in his chair, the cushion of rose petals now molded against his armor. It had never felt more confining as it did then, the cold metal biting into his old skin, restrictive and stiff. His joints and limbs positively whimpered in slow-awakening agony, and Dagda’s brow furrowed as he once more attempted to move before biting down on a pained grunt.  _Never again_  – falling asleep on a chair was one thing, falling asleep on a chair in his armor was a pain he was keen to suffer only once.

_Fine time to moan about your aches after the pain you put your daughter through –_

Dagda winced, and then stood up as forcefully as he could, the venom in the thought setting his determination alight and dulling the ache of his body. Harsh as it was, there was no denying the truth of it. He had no right to complain about anything, not anymore, not after last night…

Dagda still sighed as he turned to the balcony, his spine cracking and crunching as his tired eyes once more scanned the skies, searched the Fields. Discomfort seemed to be his lot now, but it was one he would accept as long as he could move on from bone deep shame…

_Marianne…_

In the midst of his watch, more than once had Dagda suffered the temptation to fly off to the Forest, damn his age, damn his weight–

But heavens help him, he could not and  _would not_  damn the words of his youngest.

_“You will **never**  get her back if you go after her now!”_

Dagda passed a weary hand over his face, and in that moment he swore he could have felt the sheer grayness of his beard, the many puckered lines and creases that age and stress had placed upon his brow. God, but he felt  _old_. Old and weary and unsure…

To say he had been torn between heeding Dawn’s warning and natural parental instinct as he had kept watch for his eldest was a bitterly laughable understatement. Each footstep had been both a promise to stay where he was and a reminder that he should be in the air, flying after her…

He had done the same thing after Dawn’s kidnapping, pacing the halls of the Fairy Palace when Roland had left with his army, debating if he had been too rash, if he ought to go instead of the young Knight…

_And look how well that turned out. The destruction of the Dark Castle and several near fatalities and your girls falling for –_

Dagda bit down on his cheek at the thought, teeth fierce.  _Enough of that._  He  _had_  to stop doing that, letting his thoughts fall into those despicable lines.

But…everything had fallen apart because of Roland, not because of the fact that  _he_  hadn’t been there to prevent it, right? And truly, what  _could_  he have done? He had ruled his Kingdom for years but the Dark Forest was still unknown, dangerous. He would have been out of his element…

Even if by some mad stretch of imagination he  _may_  have been able to prevent it all…in the end, it had come down to him putting his trust in the wrong person. Marianne had told him as much before the whole affair, and he had ignored her once more.  _Oh Marianne, how long have I been deaf to you –?_

_No more._

Dagda set his jaw, feeling it click a bit. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He would listen to sense and not put his faith in someone who had done more harm than good.

Back then, that person had been Roland. Now it was himself.

Dagda sighed and adjusted his crown, which had slipped low over his brow. He had truly been in a state if he had forgotten to put aside his crown as well as his armor. Or maybe some small part of him had continued to wheedle at him.  _You’ll need your armor if you’re going to brave the Forest, there’s still some time, you can still go to her_  - 

Dagda looked to the Fields, lost to his thoughts, and the sight of the shimmering, stretching carpet of dewdrops, glistening and brilliant, pulled at a memory from long ago -

_“Marianne! Darling, **please** , don’t run away from me!”_

_“But Daddy, I’m okay! I can take care of myself! And I **love**  the rain, I wanna feel it –“_

_“You shouldn’t be in the rain, it’s not safe!”_

_“I’m safe with you! I’m running away so you can catch me, Daddy!”_

Dagda closed his eyes, his mouth grimacing as dull pain throbbed through his heart. Any sweetness of the memory and the happy lilt of Marianne’s young voice were charred away by the heat of his guilt. Those days were over. Marianne would always want her adventures, would always be far too reckless for his nerves, but…

_Now she’s running away because she no longer feels safe with you._

Dagda gave a disgusted sigh and forcefully turned his back on the dawn, marching across the vast chamber to reach his doors. He was allowing melodrama to rule, letting his guilt tear ragged holes in reason and logic. Marianne…surely Marianne still felt  _safe_  with him, surely he hadn’t fallen  _so_ far –

He had wasted too much time dithering and fretting and watching the sun rise. He had to find Marianne and set things right, explain everything, by now she  _must_  have returned –

_I know that I haven’t trusted you as I ought to, that I haven’t listened as I should have. But I swear to you, I can and I will. My trust in your choices and your heart should have never wavered so. You don’t have to tell me about what happened with Roland. You’re my daughter, and I love you, and I promise that I will try from now on to be worthy of your love._

Dagda had rehearsed the speech last night, the fall of his footsteps marking the rhythm of the words. It sounded good and felt as genuine as he could make it.

Now he just had to hope Marianne would see it for what it was – the truth.

Dagda set his jaw determinedly and swung the door of his chamber open, only to let out a surprised yelp when he was confronted with Marianne’s handmaidens. They had obviously been waiting for him to emerge from his chambers, three sets of tiny arms crossed.

“ _Ah_  – um, ladies…” Dagda said awkwardly. He wasn’t used to dealing with them – pixies had been pledged to the females of the Royal Family, not the males, and these three had been the handmaidens to his wife before being passed onto Marianne. They were supposed to help the Queen or the Queen To Be in any way, aiding them in fashion and care. Marianne, being Marianne, had used them to help train herself in combat, a fact that had always made Dagda sigh.

Now he wondered once more over the wisdom of that choice as he was confronted with the unusually stern faces of Bluebell and Clover and Thistle. It was all too likely that some of Marianne’s feistiness might have rubbed off on them. Pixies were by nature flighty little things –  _only room for one emotion at a time in a body that small_ , his father had said – but they adopted the moods and habits of the person they were pledged to. When they were loyal to someone, it was for life.

And if that person was wronged in any manner…

The pixies drifted closer to him, and Dagda repressed the ridiculous urge to cower a bit under their scrutiny. “I…hope the morning finds you well…”

All three gave little snorts at that, and they all put their hands on their hips in unison. For such tiny things, they were able to convey a vast sense of being deeply unimpressed.

Dagda’s armor clanked as his shoulders sank. “…I take it you heard what happened last night?”

Bluebell zipped forward and wagged a minuscule finger under his nose, making shrill, piercing little chitters of anger, Clover and Thistle contributing squeaks of grim approval to the diatribe. Dagda flinched back and bit his lip, torn between embarrassment and shame. Their wrath might have had all the heat of sparks flying up from a fire, but it was still there. It didn’t matter if pixies didn’t dare to venture into the Dark Forest, if these three still hadn’t met the King of that grim realm – he had caused their Lady pain, and he would face their fury, small as it was.

Dagda sighed, bowing his head. “I – I know you’re angry, believe me – “

“Can you blame them?”

Dagda turned, eyes widening as he watched Dawn approach. Her face was the grimmest he had ever seen it, her smooth brow puckered and her eyes tense and shadowed. Evidently he wasn’t alone suffering a sleepless night…

Dawn waved at the pixies, her voice tired but gentle. “It’s okay, guys, I covered that last night.” She cut a glance toward her father, and Dagda heard her thoughts as clear as day.  _And I’m willing to continue it if need be._ He gave a shallow swallow, shame and trepidation sticking in his throat.

Bluebell gave an uneasy trill of concern and worry before looking back at Dagda, her tiny face hardening once more. At an unseen signal, all three suddenly swarmed up to his face, and they hooked their hands into claws and let forth a tiny chorus of growls, the fiercest they could muster.  

Oh, they had most certainly learned  _that_  from Marianne.

If it hadn’t been for the sheer contempt in their faces, such a display would have been utterly ludicrous. But Dagda merely took the castigation and watched them fly off, still making sharp little chirps of disgust. He sighed, his shoulders and brow low, his heart heavy. Fine morning  _this_  was turning out to be…

Dawn watched him, her blue eyes scrutinizing, and then silently walked past him down the hall to the dining chamber, her head held high and her wings giving sharp little flitters. Dagda quietly followed after her, fixing his eyes to the floor.

As they continued down the stretch of the hall, the silence between them thickened horribly, weighing upon every inch of Dagda’s skin. Yet he was well aware of the dangers of saying  _anything_  just now. He had done too much talking lately, and not enough listening, and he knew that Dawn expected him to say something first, make his usual excuses…

So he let the solitude and silence of the early morning remain undisturbed, and bore his discomfort as a King ought to.

With that in mind, Dagda squared his shoulders and wordlessly opened the door to the dining chamber for his youngest when they reached it. She glided past him, her chin still held high, her face still impassive. Dagda felt a keen blade of frustration and shame go through him – she was  _punishing_  him, deliberately and in the only way she knew how, withholding her usual chatty warmth. As much as it rankled his heart, he knew he deserved it.

Still, Dagda gave a harsh sigh but followed after her, dully noting that the dinner from last night had been cleared from the table but it was still too early for the servants to have set out breakfast. It was just as well, he had no appetite -

“One question,” Dawn said, her voice so crisp it verged on sharp, and Dagda started at how it shattered the silence.

She turned to him as he fumbled for a reply –  _did she even want him to?_  - her eyes bright and just a touch cold. “You said that Bog was a far different ruler than you are. Were you ever jealous over that?”

Dagda gaped at her, forgetting to be chastened in the face of his bewildered shock. “ _Jealous?_  Why on earth would I be -?”

“Boggy was born to rule,” Dawn said, neatly settling herself on the table, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands, her nonchalant pose at odds with the shrewdness to her eyes as she surveyed him. “ _You_  had to marry Mom. Is that a reason why you don’t like him? Because you’re jealous of that?”

“No!” gasped Dagda, utterly shocked, his mind reeling at such an accusation. He had – he had  _never_ been jealous of a Gob-

_No no no, don’t do that, you have to stop doing that -_

Dagda looked down, guilt furrowing his brow. Damn, but this was difficult. As well as thoroughly discomforting, what with how he was being so harshly and continuously confronted by just how deep his… _ways of thinking_  ran, that they should come so easily to him –

Dawn squinted at him. “Are you  _positive?”_

Dagda nodded, frantic in his need to reassure the both of them. “Yes, of course!”

At least…he  _believed_  so. He had never truly reflected upon such a thought, but…

…While he hated to admit it, he  _had_ always been self-conscious over not being born to the throne, the instinct to rule and carry out decisions not in his blood. Whereas Bog…

_Born to rule, born to fight._ Everything that had never come naturally to Dagda…

_But born to darkness…_

He looked away, his feelings in a proper mess. He was questioning everything now…

Dawn watched her father, taking in the miserable twist of his features, and the line of her body slumped a bit, her eyes softening. “How did you sleep?”

Dagda sighed, looking to the window. “Barely.”

Dawn echoed his exhale, her eyes pensive and unhappy. “Yeah, me too.” She knit her hands together in her lap, watching her fingers twine before speaking once more, her voice a concerned murmur. “I hope she’s gonna be okay…”

Dagda almost reached out a hand to pat her shoulder before thinking better of it. There was too much of a chance that she wouldn’t welcome his touch just yet, and the sight of his little girl recoiling from him was a pain that Dagda couldn’t bear at this point. Marianne jerking away from him last night had wounded him enough as it was.

He instead sighed, looking back to the window, the dawn gaining strength with each passing minute. “We’ll find out as soon as she leaves her room…”

Dawn’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “Daddy, Marianne’s not in her room.”

Dagda turned to her with a jerk, his heart thudding cold and scared.  _“What?”_

Dawn stood up, her wings flaring and her face full of anxiety. “I checked this morning but then I thought – I thought she had stopped to see  _you_ , that you had already seen her! I thought  _that_  was why Bluebell was telling you off, I thought you had made her upset again –!“

_“She hasn’t come back yet?”_  Dagda’s voice was a rasp, his heart sinking to his knees.  _Oh god, oh god, she still wasn’t back, she still hadn’t returned, was still in that dark realm -_

The anger and fear in Dawn’s face burned as hot as a lick of flame, twisting her delicate features into something almost ugly. “Daddy, if  _anything_ happened to Marianne,  _I’m holding you personally -!”_

But suddenly she cut herself off with a sharp gasp, eyes going huge. “MARIANNE!”

Dagda wheeled around so fast he almost lost his balance, his heart giving a fierce ache of shock and relief at the sight of his eldest soaring to them over the Fields, her wings flashing violet in the soft light of the morning. Marianne swept through the window and gracefully touched down, her wings casting a glow of purple over her skin before folding behind her, her beautiful eyes watchful and wary.

Dawn, heedless of anything but her own relief, rushed to her sister with open arms and grabbing her in a fierce hug. “Oh  _Marianne_ , I was so  _worried!_  I  _knew_  that you’d be safe with Boggy but you’ve never flown off like  _that_  and –  _oh god, I’m just so glad you’re okay!”_  

Dagda could only watch, gratitude and uncertainty immobilizing him as Marianne returned Dawn’s fierce embrace with the same comforting clasp. Her arms, winding tight around her little sister, bore a faint smattering of bruises that had Dagda itching to rush over and examine their severity. Yet aside from that, she appeared to be unhurt, though her hair was a veritable thicket and her mouth looking rather red and swollen. But her eyes…

Her eyes gazed at him over Dawn’s fluff of golden locks, and Dagda felt his heart twist painfully in his chest at the look in their hazel depths.

She was watching him, scanning him as he had seen her do countless times as she trained – a warrior seizing up a challenge, determining the danger of an enemy.

Dagda wilted under that gaze, his shoulders sinking. This was what he had made himself into.  _No longer a father, but a foe._

He  _had_  to say something. “Marianne –“

Marianne immediately held up a hand, her beautiful face impassive, her eyes still having that watchful glint to them. She gently disentangled herself from Dawn, who looked between her big sister and her father with vast trepidation in her eyes.

Dagda immediately closed his mouth. He had no other choice. If he was truly serious about being done with failing his girls, he had to walk the walk and listen. He gave a somewhat timid glance at Dawn as she stepped back from Marianne. In return, she gave him the tiniest little nod, her face uncharacteristically solemn.  _Show her that you can do this._

Dagda steeled himself and looked once more at his eldest, his heart thudding queerly in his chest. He was so desperately afraid, but…it had to be done. He  _had_  to do this.

If Marianne was aware of the sheer turmoil her father was in, she didn’t show it. She merely continued to look at him with those large, fathomless eyes of her – eyes that she had gotten from neither him nor her mother, she had always been the odd one out, his beautifully strange and loveably unique girl. The look in them was unreadable, and Dagda felt a cold trickle of sweat run down his back. He had never understood his eldest as he have ought to, but he had never loved her as much as he did then, faced with the chance that he could lose her again.  _Oh Marianne, please forgive me –_

Marianne merely continued to watch him, her eyes flickering over his face, and what she saw there must have made up her mind. “On the day of wedding,” she said, her voice low and even, “I found Roland cheating on me.”  

Dagda heard Dawn’s sharp inhale from what seemed like a great distance, someplace far away from him as a curious buzzing filled his ears…

His breath stalled in his throat and his eyes seemed unable to blink, unable to look away from Marianne’s curiously blank face as she stared at him, unable to do  _anything_  with the sheer numbness that was spreading through him, the cold, tight press of his armor not even registering anymore –

_Roland had –_

_On the day of the wedding -_

_“This is just a misunderstanding -”_  

There had been rumors, mutters, but Dagda had thought them mere jealousy,  Roland was a handsome lad, there was no harm in flirting,  _boys will be boys_  –

Marianne hadn’t said anything about it, she had been so certain of his love and devotion to her, they  _all_  had been –

The man who would have worn his crown, to whom his Marianne would have pledged her heart and her devotion and fidelity to –

_Roland had cheated on Marianne_ , _broken her heart, betrayed his happy girl in the worst way possible._

And he, Dagda, had spent all that time trying to convince her  _to take him back_  -  

All those pleading words,  _“Roland may have a few flaws, but he still loves you!”,_ all those cajoling attempts, _“C’mon, Marianne…”,_ the countless dismissals, _“The Roland misunderstanding –“_

She had made it clear from the start, even without telling him the exact nature of  _why_  –

And he had  _ignored_  her, tried to make her return to such a false lover, placed his trust and belief and hopes in  _him_  over  _her_ –

If Dagda’s shame before had burned him, a veritable frost now crept over his bones and turned his blood into icy sludge, freezing him completely with horrified realization.

_Oh god, Marianne, **what have I done to you?**_

Dagda almost reeled back, the wave of shame that crashed over him was so mighty. Meanwhile, Dawn was watching Marianne with wide eyes, her hands clapped over her mouth.

Marianne, however, seemed to be unaffected by the sheer impact of the information she had just unleashed upon them, continuing on in the same even tone. “That’s why I never took him back. He never once loved me, only the crown I could give him. And because I was so blind about him, I didn’t trust myself when it came to Love.” She dropped her hand to cross her arms in front of her, her eyes still fixed on her father. “I didn’t trust myself…but neither did you. That’s what really fucking hurt.”

Dagda couldn’t even find the words to reproach her for cursing, his breath was still stuck in his throat, his mind still buzzing.  _All this time, he had –_

Marianne passed a hand through her hair, her eyes still gleaming at him. “I didn’t trust myself, but I trusted you to  _respect_  me, to  _listen_  to me.  _I’m your daughter_. I thought that meant something. And instead you listened to Roland over me, dismissed what I said, even after I –“

She suddenly broke off and looked away, letting out a shudder of an exhale. Dagda felt a new blade of pain pierce him as he saw how the golden brown of her eyes shimmered wetly.

A wretched burst of misery welled up in his heart, boiling and acidic. Of  _course_  she was affected by this, how could she not be, after such betrayal and distrust, inflicted upon her by those who should have given her nothing but support –

The only sound in the room was Marianne’s shaky breathing until Dawn stepped forward, her own eyes wet, her lip trembling. “Marianne…I’m… _I’m so sorry_  –“

Marianne gave her sister a faint smile, her eyes still damp. “Dawn, it’s okay –“

“No, it’s not!” Dawn shook her head urgently, her hair whipping back and forth. “All this time, you just didn’t want me to get hurt like you had been! And I used to be so – so stupidly  _offended_  that you couldn’t tell me about that day -!” Her face crumpled, and she let out a tiny little sob. “Marianne, I’m  _so_  sorry, I should have  _known_  there was a good reason why –!“

Marianne crushed her little sister to her, her hug was that fierce. “I should have trusted you to take care of yourself, to tell you the truth. We both messed up.”

Dawn wriggled closer, pushing her tear stained face against her sister’s cheek. “You never _had_  to tell me – “

Marianne brushed a kiss at the crown of Dawn’s golden head, but her eyes had found her father’s once more. “No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”

It took everything to meet her gaze, but Dagda did. For a brief moment, he wished that he could cry as easily Dawn could, that tears could wash away and absolve him of the guilt that was riddling down into his bones –

But he met Marianne’s burning gaze with dry eyes, even as he quaked from wretchedness. His penance would not be so easily given, and to want it any other way was pure cowardice.  _After what I put you through…_

Marianne gently pulled away from Dawn and moved closer to him, and her face had fallen back into dangerously calm lines. “Maybe if I _had_  told you guys from the start, you wouldn’t have pushed me to take back Roland.”

The words left him unbidden. “ _I swear to you, I never would have_  –“

“But I shouldn’t have had to say  _anything_ ,” Marianne continued on, her voice getting a fine edge of sharpness to it that cut Dagda to the quick. “You should have  _trusted_  me, Dad. And you  _didn’t._  And you still don’t.”

Dagda opened his mouth, so ready to pour forth with the same old words, the same old protests and excuses,  _I’m sorry I tried I just wanted you to be happy I would have I should have_  –

And then he stopped, his head dropping and his breath gusting out of him.

_No._  That was no longer enough, had  _never_  been enough.  _Empty words, empty trust_. He had to make this right.

In that moment, his crown had never felt heavier, though it was nothing compared to the stony throbbing of his heart…

Silence reigned in the chamber before he was able to look back up at Marianne, face the burning amber of her eyes.  _So fierce, so fiery, so determined to let no one hurt her ever again –_

“I didn’t,” Dagda said quietly. “And I didn’t listen to you either. And I didn’t respect you as I should have. And…I am  _so_  deeply sorry, Marianne. To both you and to Bog.”

Hearing him say that acknowledgment, that apology, seemed to strike something deep in Marianne’s being. She let out a breath that appeared to have been held in for ages, and a tenseness left her body. Suddenly it seemed as though she could  _truly_  breathe, nothing holding her back.

There was such a vast difference that Dagda had to marvel at himself – had he honestly been so  _blind_  as to not see how this had weighed on her, the pain of her heartbreak and his distrust burdening her so?

Dagda licked his lips as she continued to watch him, her eyes still hard and wary even after letting herself relax. He had more to say, but he didn’t want to lose the meaning of the words by babbling. “You’re…you’re right. About everything. I…I trusted Roland over you, and…and I will  _always_  regret that. I let my own desires blind me. I wanted to help you, but instead I…I hurt you.”

He looked up, positively tormented, and to his horror he felt a burning sting begin behind his eyes. “ _I hurt you_. And I  _haven’t_  been worthy of your trust.” His voice got tight with emotion, frayed with urgency. “But I swear to you,  _I will be_. And… sweetheart,  _please_  know that though I haven’t trusted you and – and respected you as I ought to, please… know that I have always,  _always_ loved you.”

Marianne merely watched him, even as her eyes gained a new liquid brilliance to them. “And I love you,” she said softly. “With all my heart and soul. But you better mean that about wanting to be worthy of my trust, Dad. I can’t live like this any more.”

Dagda felt his heart twist at the pain beneath her calm words, and she continued on, looking away from him briefly, her brow furrowing. “I can’t – I can’t keep dealing with you looking  _disappointed_  or  _disgusted_  when I talk about the Dark Forest. I can’t live with my own father not wanting to see me happy because it’s  _different_  from how he thought it would be. I can’t keep living with you doubting my heart.” She looked up at him, fierce. “I  _know_  my heart, Dad. For the longest time, I didn’t, but now I do. I need you to have faith in it, in my decisions.”

Dagda stepped to her, urgent sincerity propelling him forward, reaching out a hand to her. “I can, Marianne –“

Marianne held up her hand once more, and Dagda froze in his tracks, his heart hammering in his chest.  _Had he overstepped -?_

Marianne’s eyes were hot with feeling, but her face was so still it looked almost carved. “You better, Dad. Because I swear, if you can’t let go of your biases, if you can’t accept me and Bog… you will lose me for good.”

Even as he went numb, even as Dawn betrayed a soft gasp, Dagda felt a strange sort of pride as he looked at his eldest. It was the verdict of a ruler, the ultimatum of a Queen. She was passing her judgment, and she was letting neither blood nor emotion get in the way. She had never looked more royal, her face composed even as her eyes blazed…

“It’s not too late,” Marianne continued on, her voice low, “but don’t mistake me, Dad, that’s a warning.” She looked into his eyes, and her face softened, her eyes gentling. “But I want it to stay just that. I don’t  _want_  to lose you, Dad. But I’m done with trying to brush aside how you’ve been acting about me and Bog.” Her voice was soft and empathetic and clear. “I know my heart, Dad. I love Bog, and he loves me.”

_She loves him._

Dagda gave shaky exhale. She had never actually said it out loud, stated with such quiet conviction…

Strangely enough…there was a sort of peace in hearing it. She loved Bog, truly loved him. She was happy, and she wasn’t alone. It had taken him far too long to see that, blinded by his biases, but the sheer truth of Marianne’s words seemed to illuminate her, transforming his daughter into such a bright and beautiful thing that Dagda was almost dazed as he gazed upon her.

_Everything he had wanted for her had already been there…_

Marianne ran a hand through her hair, looking torn between resoluteness and frustration. “You can accept that or not, nothing is gonna change that. And if you can’t…I sever all ties with you. ” A flash of pain escaped through her stoic front, and her voice gave a small crack before returning to steely determination. “So no more ‘ _at least with Roland comments’_ , Dad. No more bullying Sunny, no more looking down on  _anyone_ , no matter what Kingdom they’re from.  _You need to change_  –“

“And I can,” Dagda said, his heart pounding. He hesitantly stepped closer, keeping his movements cautious and slow, and when Marianne didn’t make a move to stop him, he took a deep breath, collecting his nerves. “I…I’ve wronged you. Both of you,” he added quickly, looking to Dawn, and she bit her lip at that, her bright eyes still rather damp. “And I’ve done a…a great disservice to Bog and Sunny. I…” he stopped and looked down, swallowing thickly. “I never wanted to hurt either one of you, but…I have. And I am  _so_ sorry, my darlings.” He closed his eyes, guilt shredding at his soul. “I’m sorry that I’ve failed you so badly as a father.”

At that, Marianne took a step forward before visibly stopping herself, clenching her jaw. But Dawn went to him, her eyes large and guileless, the blue of them bright with sincerity. “Daddy, you haven’t  _failed_  us – “

“I have, sweetheart,” Dagda said quietly. “We can never move on from this if I can’t admit that. I failed you, and I failed this Kingdom.” He drank in the sight of his baby girl’s bright blue eyes -  _so desperate to comfort him even after all the pain, Dawn’s selflessness had always been breathtaking_  – before glancing at Marianne, her arms wrapped around herself as though holding herself back from him.

The crack in Dagda’s heart grew deeper at the sight. Still so  _scared_  to let her guard down around him.  _She **doesn’t**  feel safe around me._

When he spoke, his voice was strained with urgency.  _“But I’m done with failing you, I promise_. I _want_  that to be over, I want – I want to make things  _right.”_

His mind began to race, and his words tumbled out with each thought. “I – I’ll invite Sunny personally to have a place on the Council, I can extend an official welcome to all goblins of the Forest, I – I can send a group of soldiers out after Roland for crimes against the crown –“

“Dad, it’s been a year,” Marianne said, arching a brow at him, her tone a bit dry. “Going after Roland now is silly.” She ran a hand through her hair, her eyes tired. “Besides…I don’t want to waste any more time on him. I’ve moved on from that.”

“Marianne’s right, Daddy,” piped up Dawn, softly touching his shoulder. “We need to concentrate on what’s in front of us, not what’s holding us back.”

Dagda looked between his girls, so young and each so much  _older_ than he had ever realized them to be.  _When_  had they become adults,  _how_  had he never noticed the sheer wisdom in their eyes?

_You know how._

Dagda repressed a sigh and focused on his girls once more. “You’re right,” he agreed, looking between the two young women who were willing to show mercy to the cur who had been willing to harm them both, the Princess and the Queen To Be who would undoubtedly turn the Kingdom upside down with their ideas. “You both are. We need to look forward. We need to change.”   

It wouldn’t be easy, and Dagda was sure that some parts of him would always struggle with discomforting biases and relinquished ideas, but…

As long as it meant he would be worthy of his girls, it was a struggle he was willing to take.

Marianne moved closer to him, her eyes searching his face. “I think you were on the right track with personally inviting Sunny to the Council, though,” she said softly. “The other councilors would go by your example. And a formal invite to the goblins would be nice too, but…” she frowned a bit, but Dagda could tell it was out of contemplation, not anger. “They have their biases too, some might be slow to respond…”

“It would show them that we’re willing to talk,” Dagda said, and his heart was full of emotion once more, only this time it swelled through him, lifting him, took off the shackles of pain that weighed it down -  

_“Are_  we?” Marianne’s eyes were unwavering in their intensity as she looked him straight in the eye, her mouth an uncompromising line.

Dagda did not avert his gaze, and his nod was slow and sincere. “We are.” He paused before continuing on hesitantly. “And…perhaps…if he was willing…the Bog King could meet with us more?” He shrugged a shoulder, at a loss. “Perhaps…perhaps a dinner?”

Marianne looked at him, floundering and sincere, and then gave a snort. “I don’t know if Bog would be that wild about Fairy food, but…yeah, maybe. A small one.” She quirked a brow at him. “And maybe you can go to the Dark Forest too.”

Dagda swallowed a bit thickly at that –  _darkness and briars that catch on wings and all sorts of sharp things to bite into a Fairy_   _unawares_ – but knew this was a test he could not fail. “Of course. As long as the Bog King is…fine with that.”

“He will be,” Marianne said, and Dagda almost smiled at the unmistakable sound of Marianne’s authoritativeness, knowing that the King of the Dark Forest would have little choice in the matter once his daughter settled her mind.

She saw the tiny curl to his lips, and her own quirked in a slight smile. Dagda’s heart ached at the sight, and though he had said it so many times already, he couldn’t stop himself –

_“I am so sorry, Marianne,”_  he whispered. His hand trembled as he held it out to her in supplication.  _“For everything._ I don’t _deserve_ your forgiveness _–“_

“I forgive you anyway,” Marianne said, her voice tight, and she stepped up and seized both him and Dawn in an utterly ferocious hug.

Dagda gripped her just as tight, and Dawn made no complaints as she was sandwiched between them, and in fact wriggled further into the embrace, sniffling with tears of relief and happiness.

How long they stayed like that, Dagda had no idea and not the slightest inclination to find out. He had his girls,  _both_  of them, and he  _would_  be worthy of them. He had their forgiveness and their love, and that was what mattered.

One day he would be able to pay them back for such a gift by truly achieving redemption. It would be painful and messy and difficult, but that was simply the way of it. A proper redemption ought to be just that - a painful path, but an adventure worth taking. Dagda owed his daughters nothing less.

But for right now, Dagda didn’t concern himself with what was to come. Instead, he  focused on holding his daughters tight, channeling as much love and comfort as he could into his embrace. All three swayed slightly, rocking back and forth, the quiet of the room deep with emotion.

Then Dawn gave another sniffle and glanced down at the tangle of their feet. “Um…Marianne? Where are your boots?”

“What -?  _Oh!_  Oh,  _god,_  I…” Marianne leaned back to properly look at her feet, biting her lip as her wings gave an anxious flutter. “I…I must have left them at Bog’s…”

Dagda looked down as well, and indeed Marianne’s toes wriggled up at him from where they clutched at the carpet. Dagda frowned – it wasn’t like Marianne to absentmindedly forget pieces of clothing, that happened to Dawn more often then not –

He looked at his eldest and noted, with growing surprise and concern, that she truly  _did_  look a proper mess. Her top was askew, the laces of her trousers looked as though they had been mangled, knotted in a messy haste. Both articles of clothing looked thoroughly crumpled, and now that he was closer, he saw the full extant of how truly  _tangled_  her hair was, how  _swollen_  her lips were, the bruises that peppered her arms and her throat and –  _good heavens, was that a bite mark?!_

Dagda leaned back and looked at her with wide eyes, torn between bewilderment and concern. “Marianne, are you alright -?”

“I’m fine!” She said quickly, but Dagda saw an undeniable flush creep along her cheeks. She stepped back a bit, but not before Dagda suddenly noticed how frankly… _dirty_  she was, messy and grimy. There was a scent to her hair, clinging to her skin, moss and soil and  _something_  else, something he felt he ought to know –

Marianne continued on, her eyes darting down. “Just…bit of a wild night. In the Forest. But –  _uh_  – yeah, everything is good!”

Her eyes flicked to the window, to where the Dark Forest lay, and her gaze grew both soft and bright. “Everything is  _wonderful_ …”

Dagda stared at her, trying to catch up with the swift turnaround of her emotions. Something had happened, something  _must_  have happened, and he opened his mouth to continue his questioning –

_She’s happy, dear. Leave it at that._

Dagda wanted to sputter, but knew the memory of his wife’s voice spoke the truth. Marianne was happy, and that was enough for him.

Marianne gave a little sigh mixed with a laugh, and then darted a glance at her father. Now her eyes  that held a gleam of uncertainty to them. “I,  _um_ , I think I need to take a bath before I go back to get them. Maybe…maybe have some breakfast too.”

Dagda nodded, sternly telling himself to focus. “Of course.”

Dawn looked between them and her smile was soft and bright with happy relief. “I think I’m gonna go hang out with Sunny today.” She looked at her father and raised a shoulder inquisitively. “Maybe I can see how he feels about the idea of being on the Council? Test the waters?”

Dagda nodded again, slightly overwhelmed. Goodness, but this was happening quickly. So much change in such a small amount of time. If this was what took place in a night and a sunrise, heaven knew what would occur in the short amount of time before Marianne’s coronation -  

Although both of his girls had realized to whom their hearts belonged to in the space of a night. It simply seemed to be the way things were done now. “ _You need to change.”_

Dagda nodded a third and final time, this one to himself.  _I can._

Dawn fluttered off to the Elf Village through the window, and Dagda looked at his heir, his bright and beautiful, strange and sweet girl. He smiled hesitantly. “Will…will you go back to the Forest today?”

Marianne shrugged, and the carelessness of the gesture sent a happy surge through Dagda’s chest, that she was once more unguarded before him. “Yeah, probably. But not before you and I go over some documents for the diplomacy.”

Her tone was warm, but there was still a glint to her eyes, and Dagda knew that they both remembered her warning.  _“You will lose me for good.”_

Dagda felt some of his happiness dim at that, but merely steeled himself. He had seen Marianne’s determination and resolve when it came to refusing Roland, and knew he had wounded her just as much as that false-hearted cad had.  Marianne had meant every word of her ultimatum, no matter how much she loved him.

_It won’t come to that._

Dagda’s eyes were sincere and his voice was soft. “We can discuss them over breakfast?”

Marianne looked at him and slowly nodded, her eyes warm and her voice just as soft. “I’d like that.” She suddenly grinned. “But first a bath. I know I’m pretty gross right now –“

Dagda waved her off with a fond smile, his heart aching with how  _full_  it felt, brimming with painful gratitude, and he had to resist the mighty temptation to pull her into another hug.  _I almost lost her –_

**_You still can –_ **

Dagda shook his head firmly, watching Marianne leave the room.  _No._  He wouldn’t. He had fallen and failed, but…he could rise. Slowly but surely as the sun, he would rise.

_Speaking of sunrises…_

Dagda turned to the window, his eyes scanning the Fields. The dawn had finally blossomed entirely, spreading petals of gold and pink across the gentle purity of the sky. A new day was beginning…

_Not just for them, but for the whole Kingdom, new age dawning under Marianne’s rule…_

_New chances for everyone, fairies and goblins and elves and pixies, Dark and Light united…_

Dagda went to the window, taking it all in. His eyes went to the Dark Forest, the rustling foliage still black and foreboding, and he sighed softly.

There would still be fear and miscommunications, doubt and dread still on both sides. It was easy to see things as bright and full of hope now, but there would be more days to come, more ways in which to fail…

_Or grow stronger._

Dagda stood up, throwing his shoulders back and straightening his spine, regally regarding the glory of the dawn.

No matter what happened…he would face what the future held, be it full of Light or Darkness.  

They all would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an emotional roller coaster, guys. Thanks for sticking with me =)


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